


The Eight Mirror Gateway

by Promatim



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, But Like Literally With Mirrors, Dementors, Hinted At Character Death, Hopefully Clever, If Multiplicity with Michael Keaton met Rendezvous with Rama, Multiverse Theory, Nudity Played for Laughs, Post-Hogwarts, Sci-fantasy, Slightly Black Mirror, Slightly Sad, Smart Ron Weasley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:48:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26154475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Promatim/pseuds/Promatim
Summary: (The science-fiction element of this story are inspired by a dream my friend Ryn had, all credit to her for that.)Ten years after the Battle for Hogwarts, Harry, Ron, and Hermione find themselves in great peril, and must follow a note from Kingsley Shacklebolt to a long-forgotten structure in Eastern Siberia. A new, powerful enemy is threatening the wizarding world, and our heroes are desperate for a solution. With nowhere else to turn, they consult a mysterious device that allows them to conference with other versions of themselves from parallel universes.Will Harry, Ron, and Hermione find answers from their parallel selves? Or will they only unlock more questions?
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	The Eight Mirror Gateway

Hermione landed with an echoing crunch as she leapt off of the bottom rung of a ladder. She rubbed her gloved hands together. Most of what she was wearing was goose down, but she was still so stiff and so cold. Even the cosiest wizarding gear was not meant for this close to the arctic.  
  
Ron and Harry were a few feet in front of her, tracking snow into the onyx black chamber. Harry was clutching his arm, his injury recovering slowly, but Ron looked fresh. Since rejoining the Aurors, he had taken his fitness seriously, and was probably in the best shape of the three of them.  
  
“I don’t see eight sides,” Ron said, shining his slender willow wand around the room. “Are you sure we’re in the right place?”  
  
“Right place, yes. Right room, no,” Hermione managed through chattering teeth, thankful that this underground bunker was warmer than the surface, now so far above them. “The note said that the mirror room would be small, and this room is positively cavernous, so, I think it must be further in.”  
  
“And the mirrors will tell us what to do about the new Dementors?” Ron ventured.  
  
“The mirrors will show us other Rons, other Hermiones, other Harries, from parallel worlds. If the new Dementors exist in other places in the multiverse, maybe other versions of ourselves have found a way to defeat them,” Hermione replied.  
  
“I still don’t understand.”  
  
“It’s a strange concept to me, too, Ron. But I think we’ve got to find it first. Then, we can figure out how this all works.”  
  
***  
  
Each of the trio produced a light spell of their own, further illuminating the room. It felt hauntingly empty, with high, vaulted ceilings, and little in the way of decoration or comfort. By chance or fate, each of the three hovered their light over the archway at the same time. It was black and foreboding, with a floor that sloped down. Deeper into the earth, they must go.  
  
Hermione led the way through the narrow archway, Ron and Harry close behind. She was eager just to be warm again, and though the air was stale and unpleasant, the temperature did improve the further they went.  
In the next room, Hermione cried out in joy, and Ron let out a gasp.  
  
“Well, this can’t be it, right? This room is bigger than the last,” Ron said hesitantly.  
  
“Look at that pillar in the center,” Hermione gestured with her wand.  
  
A looming black pillar dominated the room. It was dotted with jewels, which threw the light from Ron, Hermione, and Harry’s wands across the room in fantastic patterns. At the base of the pillar was a console, with bizarre-looking panels, curved levers, and various adornments that none of the three wizards recognized.  
  
“That has to be it,” Harry agreed. “That’s the device from Kingsley’s note, I have no doubt.”  
  
There were steps leading to the pillar, and when Hermione climbed them, a segment of the pillar, which previously appeared seamless, opened. Hermione went inside first, but when a cry echoed through the chamber, Ron and Harry rushed inside.  
  
“What is it?” Harry’s good arm twitched, steering his wand towards any potential danger.  
  
“Look,” Hermione pointed.  
  
They were standing in an octagonal room, with seven mirrors on seven sides, and an eighth mirror raised behind them, from the side which they’d come through.  
All of the mirrors were identical in size and shape, except one of the mirrors was horribly cracked, with a thousand reflections staring at them from a broken spider web of glass.  
  
“Well,” Ron said, “we’re doomed then, right? The world above us is in chaos, this was our last hope, and the relic Kingsley wrote to us about is broken?”  
  
The silence was deafening as Ron looked from Harry to Hermione, all three exhausted from days of fighting and running.  
  
“No,” said Hermione at last. “If I understand multiverse theory correctly, the device could still work. At least, I think.”  
  
“I’m sensing a ‘but,’” Harry ventured.  
  
“We won’t be able to talk to just any parallel world. Of the millions of worlds this device might be able to reach, we’ll only be able to reach worlds where this device has the exact same crack in the same mirror, down to every last detail.”  
  
Harry brightened, “but those odds aren’t that bad, right? If I’ve followed any of this multiverse gobbledygook, if parallel worlds aren’t that different…”  
  
“Then whatever event broke this mirror should have happened elsewhere in the multiverse, too,” finished Hermione.  
  
“Right. That. Now how do we turn this on?”  
  
With the three back outside the pillar, Hermione examined the console carefully. After trying a few switches and dials to no effect, she started opening up panels on the device. One panel revealed a jumble of brass gears. Another showed yet more switches.  
  
“Ron, I think you’re up first,” Hermione said, chewing her lip.  
  
“Me? Isn’t figuring out complicated magical artifacts more your department?” Ron protested.  
  
“If it was purely magic, yes. But technological magic is weird. This thing runs on electricity, I think. I can probably operate it, but you need to help me turn it on.”  
“What makes you think I can do that?”

Hermione folded her arms, “Didn’t you and George spend the better part of last year helping your father with his gadgetry? Arthur said you helped him build a ham radio!”  
  
“I helped my father _take apart_ a ham radio,” Ron clarified. “That’s very different.”  
  
In their younger years, this argument would have lasted much longer. Instead, Hermione shot Ron a stare that spoke volumes.   
  
“Okay, fine. I’ll try my best.” Ron knelt down next to the open panels. Despite the rumored age of this device, the gears looked impossibly clean. He hoped that meant they were in working order. He spent much longer studying the panel of switches. After several moments, he tried flipping a few of them.  
  
The ancient relic whirred to life, and dials lit up elsewhere on the console. A humming sound came from the pillar, and the three studied it in awe as, for a moment, every small jewel covering its surface lit up with a brilliant yellow light, so bright they had to shield their eyes.  
  
Then, a moment later, most of the jewels dimmed slowly, back into darkness. Only a few jewels, dotted here and there, remained lit.  
  
Hermione tried to count the glowing crystals. Of the estimated hundreds of thousands of gems studding the pillar, maybe a few hundred were lit, all told.  
  
Harry was the first to acknowledge it. “So, those are the worlds we can speak to? The glowing lights, those are the ones with the same crack in the same mirror?”  
  
Hermione nodded, “that was my thought, too.”  
  
“I’m really glad someone explained that,” said Ron.  
  
“I’ll go in first,” offered Hermione. “I already know what I want to ask myselves.”  
  
***  
  
When Hermione stepped into the octagonal room, the mirror-door above her slowly slid into place. The room had a perfect symmetry, eight seamless walls with eight identical mirrors.  
  
Except for the crack.  
  
She noted that the door hadn’t closed when it had been all three of them in here. Clearly this was meant to be a solitary experience. Kingsley had written that nothing would happen unless the room was completely pitch black, so she shut the light spell on her wand off.  
  
She stood in darkness for what felt like too long, perfectly still.  
  
Then, just as she was beginning to doubt herself, the room began to spin. Slowly at first, the mirrors rotated, building momentum, spinning faster and faster around her. There was still nothing to see, but she could hear the centrifugal whirring all around her.  
  
The spinning of the mirrors became a loud, thrumming sound, and Hermione began to catch glimpses of her reflection. The room slowly brightened, though from where the light came, Hermione could not see.  
  
After a few moments, another Hermione stepped into the room, straight out of the spinning abyss. Both Hermiones watched as a third Hermione stepped into the room a moment later. As if under a spell, none of the Hermiones spoke as they calmly watched a fourth, fifth, six, and seventh Hermione step into the room.  
  
When the last Hermione entered the room, the spinning abruptly stopped, and there were seven identical women standing in an octagonal room. Looking past her twins and at the cracked mirror, Hermione’s heart dropped. Not in room with the seven of them, was another Hermione, looking forlorn, palm pressed against spiderwebbed glass. That had not been what the original Hermione expected.  
  
Making herself look away from that disturbing sight, Hermione realized she was waiting for one of her mirror twins to say something. When none of them spoke first, she cleared her throat and began.  
  
***  
  
“Are all of you me?” Hermione ventured.  
  
“I think so?” One Hermione replied.  
  
Hermione studied her doppelgangers carefully, and realized that they were all dressed differently, and she was the only one in snow boots and a parka. Half the Hermiones were dressed in really lovely sweaters, which, to her satisfaction, she also owned. The Hermione directly across from her was wearing a surprising amount of armor, yet another was wearing a torn denim jacket, and the last Hermione to enter was wearing jammies.  
  
“So, we didn’t all use the device at once, did we?”  
  
“What device?” One of the Hermione sweater gang asked curiously.  
  
“The relic? Eight mirrors, bit intimidating, deep underground in eastern Siberia?” Hermione-Prime offered helpfully.  
  
Blank stares from the sweater gang, but the Hermione in armor nodded in understanding. “So, this is the room from Kingsley’s note. I haven’t been yet myself; I just learned of it. Fascinating.”  
  
“I need your help,” Hermione-Prime was quick to speak, knowing the amount of questions a half dozen Hermiones could ask, if she didn’t move things forward. “There are Dementors attacking wizards, and they’re much, much stronger than any of the ones that used to guard Azkaban.”  
  
Four slack-jawed expressions. An acknowledgement from the Hermione in the torn jacket, and a curt nod from the armored Hermione.  
  
Jacket Hermione was first to speak, “It took Luna, Neville, and I the strength of our three Patronuses combined to drive off _one_ of these new Dementors.”  
  
“Yes!” Hermione-Prime exclaimed. “Yes. I once saw Harry’s stag chase away dozens of Dementors, by itself. These new ones…”  
  
“They don’t run,” offered the Hermione in armor.  
  
“Right! They try and fight.”  
  
“Yep.”  
  
“And a single Patronus doesn’t match up well against them, either.”  
  
“It took Luna, Neville, and I-”  
  
“I don’t even think they die when they lose.”  
  
“No, it just buys you a few days. I’ve learned to tell them apart-”  
  
“EXCUSE ME, what?” A mortified Hermione in a cat sweater cut through the chaotic discourse, the color drained from her face. “What is happening?”  
  
Hermione-Prime took a deep breath, having anticipated this. “In my world, not every Dementor was accounted for when Kingsley dismissed them from Azkaban. No auror had seen one in years, but early this fall, they reappeared and started attacking wizards.”  
  
“Nope, okay, back up. What is a Dementor, who is Kingsley, and did you say wizard? I’m defending someone who is looking at 25-to-life tomorrow, I need to be studying their case file. I don’t have time for whatever this is!”  
  
Every other Hermione exchanged a look before reassessing the situation.  
  
“Okay,” Hermione-Prime begins. “We are going to break into two groups! Anyone who isn’t fighting mutant Dementors, please go comfort Cat Sweater Hermione. Anyone whose wizarding way of life is threatened by soul-sucking super wraiths, stay with me.”  
  
***  
  
An hour or so later, Hermione emerged from the pillar.  
  
“So?” Ron looked up from the console. “Did it work? Do we have a better plan now?”  
  
“Yes. No. In that order.”  
  
“We came so far for this,” Ron looked crestfallen.  
  
“It wasn’t a total loss. Two of the Hermiones I spoke with are also dealing with the Dementors. They’re having about as much success as we are, or are maybe a little behind us.”  
  
“Oh, great.”  
  
“You’ve got to go in there, too. I think it’s a roll of the dice who you get. Maybe you’ll get a Ron who knows how to beat these things?”  
  
Ron nodded, “I really, really don’t like the idea of talking to other Rons from other dimensions. But I’ll do it.”  
  
“Where is Harry?” Hermione asked.  
  
Ron indicated the dim edge of the room, where a huddled shape in a parka was sleeping, chest slowly rising and falling.  
  
“He puts on a brave face, but he’s really hurt, isn’t he?”  
  
“You know, people in stories dive out windows all the time. When a Patronus-resistant Dementor is bearing you down, it seems like a good idea,” defended Ron.  
  
“Oh, no doubt it was the right thing to do. Doesn’t make his arm any less broken, though,” sighed Hermione.  
  
Ron stood up. “My turn.”  
  
***  
  
Seven Rons gathered around a pouting and silent eighth Ron, whose palm was pressed dejectedly against a cracked mirrored wall.  
  
“Poor guy.”  
  
“He’s not stuck there forever, is he? Like, we didn’t just curse him to be stuck in a mirror-thingy for all eternity?”  
  
“Hey! What do you mean ‘we?’ I was at home taking a bath, and then-”  
  
“Didn’t have time to grab a towel?”  
  
“No, as a matter of fact, I did not. Did any of you have any warning this was about to happen?”  
  
“Matter of fact, where are we?”  
  
“Oh no. Blimey, did I die?”  
  
A sharp whistle cuts through the crowd, and the Ron dressed in a winter parka begins to speak. “Okay, first order of business. I did this, I summoned all of you here. Second order of business, nicknames. From me to the left - Earth Ron, Flannel Ron, Naked Ron, Turtleneck Ron, Sword Ron, Scuba Ron, and Christmas Sweater Ron.”  
  
“Did you say ‘Earth Ron?’ We’re all from Earth… right?”  
  
“Does the Ron who didn’t make it through not get a nickname? We should give him one.”  
  
“Fine, he can be Trapped Ron.”  
  
“So he is trapped! Oh, that’s sad.”  
  
“We don’t know if he’s-”  
  
“Someone please confirm that we are all, in fact, from Earth.”  
  
“Wait, am I Scuba Ron? This isn’t-”  
  
The naked Ron raised his hand. “I petition to change my name from ‘Naked Ron’ to ‘Bathtime Ron,’ and on that note I would really like to borrow literally any article of clothing from anyone.”  
  
“You can have my flannel,” offered Flannel Ron.  
  
“But then what will we call-”

“Mates, this really doesn’t matter,” the Ron with a rather nasty looking longsword, aptly named Sword Ron, spoke up. “One of us… Earth Ron, summoned the rest of us here for a reason. We should hear him out.”  
  
“Thank you,” Ron cleared his throat, and began. “I, well, I don’t know how to break this to the lot of you, but things in my time, or world, or whatever, are really bad. The Dementors are back, and they have been attacking aurors. Killing them. So much so that I had to leave my brother’s shop, and rejoin the aurors last year.”  
  
At this, the assembly of Rons sobered up. Some Rons looked surprised by the news, some did not.  
  
“Things are bad where I am, too,” began the Ron holding the sword. “We’ve been dealing with Dementors for the past year, and they’re incredibly powerful. They’re not immune to Patronuses, but they certainly resist them. Ginny, Hermione, and I had to face a Dementor three on one!”  
  
“Huh. That’s weird,” the Ron in the turtleneck scratched his chin. “See, where I’m from, things were also peaceful until about last year. But we’re not fighting Dementors. We’ve been fighting trolls.”  
  
“Trolls?” A few Rons echoed.  
  
“How big are trolls, where the rest of you are? Twelve feet tall, maybe?” Turtleneck Ron continued. “That was the case where I was, until last year. Now, we’ve been fighting trolls thirty, forty feet tall. There’s no mistaking them for giants, either. They’re big, mean, and they don’t negotiate.”  
  
It was another Ron’s turn to speak. “We’ve been dealing with Dementors, and they are as you described. We’ve also fought oversized trolls. And grindylow. And acromantula. All in some way enhanced. We have no idea where they’re coming from.”  
  
“An auror,” the Ron dubbed Scuba Ron spoke.  
  
Heads turned in his direction.  
  
“A former auror, anyway. Ursus Tennisen. He never liked the way Kingsley dismissed the Dementors from their Azkaban post. Was obsessed with them. Now, he’s turning them into Patronus-resistant killing machines. And mutating other beasts, too.”  
  
“How is he doing that?” Ron said incredulously.  
  
“How do you think? He’s using a relic. He found an ancient weapon, created by wizards with a completely different understanding of science and magic than we have today. Wizards who built absolutely bonkers magic machines, thousands of years ago. Wizards who made the mirror room that you used to summon us, and made this suit I’m wearing right now. It’s not scuba gear, by the way.”  
  
Ron was silent for a moment. “How do you know all of that?”  
  
“Listen mate, we know very little. We know that there are a couple sites the Ministry of Magic has kept a secret from the entire wizarding world, like the one you used to call all of us here. We know Ursus has found a relic, and we suspect that there are a lot more out there.”  
  
“Blimey.”  
  
Sword Ron asked the question on Earth Ron’s mind. “How do we beat them, then? Have you found a way to kill the Dementors?”  
  
“I’m sorry,” the Ron in armor hung his head. “No, we haven’t. But we are trying to get to those other relics before Ursus can. Maybe we can find something that undoes his mutations, or beats them in some other way.”  
  
“Tell us your leads, then. If we’re going to beat this Ursus guy to the next relic, we’ll need all the help we can get.”  
  
***  
  
When Ron stepped out of the pillar, he looked somber, but triumphant. Harry was awake now, so Ron informed both his friends of everything he had learned.  
  
Harry nodded. “It seems each step is bringing us a little closer. I wish we knew exactly where to go next, but a lead is better than nothing.”  
  
Hermione looked gravely to Harry. “It’s your turn, then. Maybe one of your other selves will know more about this Ursus person, or about the relics, or where we should go next.”  
  
***  
  
Harry stepped into the chamber, the mirror-door above him dropping neatly into place. He extinguished his wand, standing in the darkness as Hermione had instructed him. Slowly, the eight mirrors around him began to whir.  
  
The noise was a low thrumming at first, as each mirror went past. As they picked up speed, the noise became a consistent hum. Harry waited, trying not to think about his busted arm. It hurt, but compared to Gilderoy Lockhart disappearing all his arm bones and Madam Pomfrey regrowing them, a fracture was nothing.  
  
Harry wondered what Poppy Pomfrey was up to in retirement, and wondered how Hannah was faring as the new matron of Hogwarts. He wondered if she’d had to regrow any unfortunate children’s arm bones.  
  
Harry estimated it had been about twenty minutes since he’d entered the mirror room, and admitted that he’d expected something else to happen by now. Ron and Hermione had both been in here for longer, so surely this was normal. But Ron was impatient, and would have surely warned him if there was this much waiting around.  
  
The mirrors kept whirring past at a steady hum, and Harry kept waiting. He closed and opened his eyes, but either way it was pitch black. It was hard to keep track of time, so Harry replayed old battles in his head. When he ran out of battles, he thought about old quidditch matches. He thought about Cho, perched on her Comet 260, not even trying to find the Snitch. Instead, she was watching Harry’s movements, hoping that he would lead her to it.   
  
He figured he’d been in here about an hour.  
  
Any moment, now. Any moment, and another Harry Potter will come walking through that dark abyss. He was sure of it.  
  


***


End file.
